


You're Pulling the Trigger All Wrong

by hjbaltimore



Series: The Lernaean Problem [1]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Brainwashing, Cold War, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, very lightly implied Bucky/Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1918554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjbaltimore/pseuds/hjbaltimore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I used to be a bad person, working with Americans. They threw me away, but I was saved by Hydra. They are making the world a better place," he droned.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>He was mostly a silent presence, and this girl was asking questions that were generally best left to his superiors. They were able to think, after all. He was told he couldn't do that.</i></p><p> </p><p> It's November 1991, and in a last ditch effort to plan for the inevitable, the KGB decides to shake things up at the Red Room; the Winter Soldier is brought in to train the next generation of killers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Pulling the Trigger All Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> [character notes at the bottom]

“She has already made her first kill, you know.”

 

The two men in the back of the theater talked while the children on stage twirled in tiny pink tutus, the instructor counting to keep them in rhythm.

 

“Is that so? Who was it?” 

 

“Taras.”

 

“Ridiculous.”

 

“Tripped him and dazed by a knock to the head, she injected air behind the left knee. He already had heart problems. Didn’t take too long.”

 

“How did she even get in?”

 

“Even a bastard like Taras isn’t immune to the effects a lost, crying little girl has. He practically carried her in.”

 

“And yet you still bring her to ballet practice? You make a strange father, Ivan.”

 

“She insisted. Natalia takes orders like the best of soldiers, but she is the boss, make no mistake.”

 

The man rolled out a cigarette out of a silver case, laughing low and throaty. The lighter seemed impossibly small in his thick, calloused hands.

 

“Very well, she can start training with the other girls, if you think she is up to the task.”

 

“It is a once in a life time opportunity. She may not fully understand the nature of the work, but I have no doubt she wouldn’t want it to pass her by.”

 

There was chattering, the sound of feet running across the stage, other adults rising from their seats.

 

“Ivan! You came to watch.” A little girl came running, clutching a small gym bag. She still had on a leotard, but replaced the slippers with sneakers and the tutu with a pale green jacket, slightly too big.

 

“Natalia dear, you remember Mr. Brushov? He has approved you for the special training program.”

 

She nodded silently, eyes suddenly fixed on the man sitting behind them, casually but covertly clutching a Makarov still halfway in his thigh holster, partly obscured by the long coat he was wearing. He seemed uncomfortable (whether from the environment, his ill fitting clothes, or the type of weapon, she did not know), but Ivan and the other man didn’t seems to notice or care.

 

“Are you tired?” Ivan asked. She might have been fierce, but she was still young, still took naps, even.

 

She shook her head. “No. Who is that?" She pointed to the man behind them.

 

Brushov smiled. “Little Natalia, always straight to the point. Normally I would say ignore him, but for the next few weeks, this will be your trainer.”

 

“What is his name?”

 

Brushov furrowed his brow, frown replacing the smile as he thought. ”You know? I don’t remember. Ah, it doesn’t matter, really. Lets get back to the academy. I don't like being in the open too long.”

 

* * *

 

At least half the girls in the program (all orphans he was told, whatever that meant) were too young to use even the smallest guns. They stuck to hand-to-hand combat and knives, but he still had to hold back. He had never worked with children like this (that he can remember), even rarer still that he was simply to demonstrate his skills rather than use them. The Soldier was even allowed to give orders.

 

It was for the good of the cause, they told him. The union was crumbling; once enemies, now Hydra and the KGB needed to work together to save the world. These terms meant nothing to the Soldier. If his handlers were pleased, so was he, and what they called themselves did not matter.

 

Every night, before he was allowed to sleep, he was sat down in a chair and made to watch propaganda films. Sometimes reminding him of all the good Hydra had done throughout history, others times they were Soviet films depicting the evils of capitalism (whatever that was). He didn’t understand most of it, but he was rewarded with praise after parroting the words in the movies back to those around him, even more so when he would use them to encourage his students. The soldier felt what something deep in his mind called “pride”. It was a wonderful feeling.

 

“I feel that too when Ivan watches me practice, or after a ballet recital when people clap and give me flowers.”

 

The youngest girl, with bright red hair and muscles stronger than a body that size should be capable of producing sat with him after tiring out, and they watched the others spar off in pairs.

 

“What’s your name?” she asked finally.

 

“I don’t have one. Is it important?”

 

“Yes. Ivan says that names are the most important thing anyone owns. The last thing my mom ever said was my name, you know,” she said, tiny fingers fidgeting with her shirt.

 

He didn’t have anything to say to that.

 

“What happened to your arm?” she asked, not missing a beat.

 

“It fell off.”

 

“How?”

 

“I used to be a bad person, working with Americans. They threw me away, but I was saved by Hydra. They are making the world a better place,” he droned.

 

He was mostly a silent presence, and this girl was asking questions that were generally best left to his superiors. They were able to think, after all. He was told he couldn't do that.

 

He could feel her eyes on him. Usually when this happens, the owner of those eyes found themselves suddenly lacking, but he was told not to harm the students unless it was an absolute necessity in their training. Even then it was to be non-lethal and not permanently damaging. He shivered, and her smirk was merciless.

 

He could do gentle. He’d had to before, for more covert missions. At least, he thinks he did. Memories of memories sat precariously on the edge of his mind, ready to slip away at any moment.

 

“Are you married?” she asked suddenly.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“How can you not know?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Do you know anything?” she pushed.

 

He clasped his metal wrist. “I suppose not.”

 

She smiled at him, exposing at least two missing teeth. Was that normal for children? Or had she lost them during training? Did that count as “permanently damaging” or could they be regrown? Replaced with artificial ones?

 

“Where did your teeth go?”

 

“They fell out.”

“Will they grow back?” he asked, scratching at his left arm.

 

“Yeah, but not for a while. Ivan told me ‘grown up’ teeth pop up instead.”

 

“Oh.”

 

She lifted his left arm off his legs where it was rested, and laid her head down on his thigh, draping his arm back over her. “I’m going to take a nap.” She squeezed her eyes shut as if to force sleep upon herself.

 

He stiffened, eyes widening, and slowly turned his head to look around the room. The others were either still practicing or resting like Natalia was, but none of his superiors or handlers were around. Was this a test? Was he allowed to do this? Was she? Physical contact was something subtly discouraged around him, unless it was for purely clinical, practical purposes. This was neither. At the very least it should be uncomfortable. The metal was heavier than flesh, but she seemed content.

 

“You know, if this were a mission I could’ve killed you a dozen times already,” she whispered, eyes still shut.

 

He blinked, and realized with a look of abject horror she was right. He felt as though he’d been slapped. Slowly, he reached his right hand over and threaded it through her red hair. It was soft. He thought about pointing out he too could have killed her by this point, but a flash of blue eyes and short blond hair caught the words. He continued petting, letting his own eyes drift as an shadow watched from the hallway.

 

* * *

 

“What should we do with the soldier?” Brushov asked, jamming his cigar into the glass ash tray.

 

“Do we really want to do anything? Maybe Karpov wanted it this way. Maybe there is supposed to be some personality still there, bonding with others. I don’t really know, this is the first I’ve worked on the project.”

 

“I don’t think it’s safe. Too long out of cryo if you ask me. The films aren’t doing enough. We need to find someway to tide him over until the next wipe or he might run again. We don’t need a repeat of Chicago.”

 

“What’s the harm? So Natalia made a friend. In a few days they won’t even remember each other, and the soldier will be off god knows where as Vasily’s bodyguard, among other things,” said the technician, making a gesture with his hands.

 

“That’s disgusting.”

 

“My point is,” the man continued, “there hasn’t been an incident since ‘73. As long as he’s kept out of the states there’s no real danger.”

* * *

 

“Are you sure you don’t have a name?”

 

Once again, she had tired out. Generally he found this a frustrating limitation of working with young agents, but with the one girl with bright red hair was a very calming presence. He couldn’t say he enjoyed her company, but it was not unpleasant either. He just wished she wouldn’t ask so many questions.

 

“I am the Winter Soldier, Fist of Hydra.”

 

She raised a quizzical eyebrow. “So you really don’t have a name?”

 

“My birth name was lost when the Americans threw me away. It is not important.” Hydra told him they burned the name away with the memories of that past life. "They were nothing but distractions and lies.”

 

“I want to call you Sasha,” she said, pointing at him.

 

“Why?”

 

“You look like one.”

 

It didn’t feel right, but for all he knew it could have been his name. He wasn't sure how anyone could “look” like a name. It might have been some sort of innate social grace he lacked, in addition to so many others. His stomach rattled sickeningly, and for a moment, he didn't recognize where he was. He clutched his head.

 

"Sasha are you alright?" She brushed his hair back.

 

The world swayed. "You can't keep it forever Natalia," he mumbled. "You should leave."

 

She retracted her hand as if burned. "What?"

 

"What?"

 

"You said to lea-"

 

"No, I thought I remembered something important. I think I'm malfunctioning," he gasped. He wretched his hand away from the floor, and staggered into the hall. The others girls stopped and stared. Natalia looked to her side, where there was not a two inch deep, hand shaped hole in wood. In the hall, there were already others looking anxiously out the window and whispering in panicked earnest. The Soldier walked by nearly unnoticed.

* * *

 

“This is happening much faster than anticipated, Karpov.”

 

“Even we can’t stop it at this point. Anyway, that is beside the point. I’ve given you two more weeks than originally planned with the asset, and I refuse to spend the last of my days in this hell hole while the coup fails and everything falls to pieces. I’m taking the Winter Soldier with me to the middle east and you’re just going to have to deal with that. ”

 

“The Red Room has been preparing for this day for years. It’s not going to effect much really. We just need to make sure the girls in the Widow program don’t spill anything when the someone inevitably come knocking.”

 

“Are you trying to tell me you can’t muddle the memories of twenty-eight children from the past month?”

 

“Vasily, you of all people know you can only erase so much without complications.”

 

“Please, he’s completely loyal. To hell with you, Yuri. You have three other soldiers stored away to help deal with this problem.”

 

“Yes, but what about the branch in Ukraine? They already betrayed the cause.”

 

“Hydra is dealing with it as we speak.”

 

“Then what do we do about…”

 

The men we talking in circles, even the Soldier knew that. He never recalled hearing his handlers sound worried about something, which was strange seeing as he’d been repeatedly told they controlled everything. There should be no variables in which to be afraid of.

 

The Soldier couldn’t quite control his facial muscles. A look of disgust was plastered on his face, loosely clenching his fingers. One of the technicians quietly buzzing around the room, poking and prodding him stopped to glare at him.

 

“Is there a problem?”

 

He exhaled deeply through his nose and relaxed his muscles. “I don’t want to go into cryo yet.”

“Well that’s too fucking bad. Shouldn’t have been out this long. Plus you’ll be spending god knows how long out when Karpov drags you to the desert with him,” he said, jamming his thumb in the direction of the room where all the men were talking.

 

“My mission here is not complete.”

 

The Soldier almost tripped over his own words. Yes, the students in the program could use more direction, but really when won’t they? Even he was always learning new skills, occasionally being trained when thawed from the ice. He couldn't remember why he needed to stay anymore. There was a man with a star on his chest smiling at him across the room with sad eyes.

 

“You were brought for two weeks to get the girls started on intensive training. That’s it. Or do I have to tell Karpov you are disobeying orders?”

 

“No sir.”

 

“Then shut up and hold still.”

 

He thrust in a large needle, injecting a pale green fluid into his veins. It felt hot, spreading from the puncture to his toes and it wasn't painful, but made him want to move around. The technician shoved him back in the chair.

 

“Don’t move.”

 

Two others came in now, carrying various tubes and hooks and wires. The man with the star was now peaking from around the door frame. He had red hair now, though the Soldier was certain he was blonde before. 

 

He watched him intently, although dazed by whatever drug was mixing with his blood at the moment. His body was buzzing, feeling light as air, sounds muffled like he were behind a separate wall from the rest of the world. He hardly noticed the tubes shoved into his nostrils.

 

The technicians said something, but he couldn’t understand them.

 

“Steve…” He closed his eyes, but just for a moment. They fluttered open, and Natalia stood, frightened, in the man's place.

 

“What’s he saying?”

 

He laughed, almost hysterically. “ _Oh man Steve. That girl could kick your skinny ass. She probably weighs more too._ ”

 

“He’s saying something in English".

 

“Don’t look at me. Languages were never my forte.”

 

“Just get him in the tube.”

 

They slid him from the chair and propped him up, limply, inside the chamber, the door sealing itself with a hiss. He exhaled hard into the mask strapped to his face. There was a short tube shoved partly in his airway, and he wanted to spit it out. It was already cold and there was no room to move, not even to reach around and loosen the equipment hooked to his face and arm. A thick liquid seeped in through tiny pores on the bottom of the tank, engulfing his feet and climbing it’s way up. Had he been naked the entire time?

 

Natalia was suddenly banging her small fists against the glass with a dull thunk at each landing blow.

“Sasha! Sasha! What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

He touched the tips of his fingers to the frosted over glass. The fluid was above his head by this point. For a moment he thought about punching through, deciding the better of it when he noticed Natalia would likely be injured. No permanent damage allowed.

Natalia watched the Soldier’s eyes droop almost peacefully. His hand fell from it’s spot, floating at his side.

“Widow Romanova, what are you doing in here? This is no place for a child.”

“What’s wrong with him? What happened?”

Two of the men looked at each other, the taller one shrugging and walking back out to join the other in the adjacent room.

“When not in use, the Winter Soldier is placed in cryostasis and, right now, is awaiting transport.”

“Why?”

“To keep him out of trouble. He is not a person, a loyal citizen like you. He is a weapon. You would not leave your garrote laying around where it could be damaged, right? Or your knife where it might get lost? This isn’t any different,” he offered, patting her head.

“Special training is over. Go back to your instructors, I’m certain they’re worried about you.”

* * *

Natasha’s eyes fluttered open.

Three weeks since D.C., and she had actually managed to keep a decent sleep schedule, up until the past couple of days. Blindly slapping her hand at the nightstand, she grabbed the copy of the Winter Soldier’s file.

The scanned printout of the photo didn’t do it justice, she thought; the cold terror of the cryonic tube. The one in the picture was different, however. It was a dull grey metal with a small window reminding her strongly of a submarine. But the gesture was the same, with an outstretched hand and a face of resigned defeat.

“Nat?”

“Clint, can you talk?” she asked in a not quite whisper into the phone.

“Um, yeah- just hang on a sec.”

A brittle crack was barely audible in the background, and Clint yelled something vaguely resembling Cantonese to a man’s yelp.

“Alright, I’m all ears.”

“I think I might need to go help Rogers.”

“Wait, what? No, Tasha, you said so yourself, you needed to lay low for a while. Get some new covers while paradoxically ‘finding yourself’.”

“The past couple nights I’ve been remembering crap from my time in the Red Room.”

“What’s that got to do with Cap?”

“I-” she smoothed out her hair, “I think I knew Barnes at one point.”

“Sergeant Barnes.”

“Well, the Winter Soldier. Though who knows, the guy might be both these days.”

“Um, _yeah_ you know him. He shot you. Twice.”

“He trained me at the Academy when I was a kid.”

Clint croaked into the phone. They both sat in silence until Natasha heard rustling on the end.

“You don’t owe him anything for helping you become a better killer,” he said quietly.

“No, but I knew. I knew there was something wrong and I couldn’t help. He reached out to me, I remember. He even tried to warned me about what would happen if I stayed with Weapon X.”

He sighed. “That’s not on you. How old were you, ten? How much do any of us understand at that age?”

“Six or seven, I think.”

“There you go, even worse. Just give yourself some time to think okay? When I’m done with this, we can meet anywhere in the world. Wherever you want. I’ll go with you to help Cap out if you don’t change your mind.”

She closed her eyes and smiled. “Anywhere, huh? What aboooout… Budapest?”

“I retract my earlier promise.”

She laughed. “I hear Algiers is lovely this time of year,” she said, pulling out another Hydra file. “Hope your French isn’t too rusty.”

**Author's Note:**

> All the names here were ones I pulled from the comics (except Sasha), because why bother making up characters in fanfiction if there are perfectly good canon ones just lying around? That’s my philosophy anyway. My headcanon for the fic was that Russians found Bucky and kept him in cold storage (after not finding any serum) until Zola came along; maybe to recruit them as the Soviet branch of Hydra. Later on, they would’ve joined forces with the KGB, because really, it makes sense. In the comics the groups were at odds, but they were always after the same crap and against America so… you’d think it would make more sense to team up? Not to mention, being a world superpower at the time, the Soviets would’ve been a huge boost to the Hydra cause, making it a hell of a lot easier to influence global politics.
> 
> \---
> 
>  
> 
>  **616-** Mainstream Marvel comic universe. 99% of what shows up in the movies is based off this and the Ultimates-verse.
> 
>  **General Brushov-** He only showed up once or twice. He worked with Red Guardian and yada yada yada. He was like a one-off Russian stock villain. There is a panel in the Winter Soldier comic where Vasily Karpov says “I am glad Yuri transferred me. To hell with him.” So I’m like, who the fuck is Yuri? The Marvel wiki turns up like, 50 Yuris okay? But I narrowed it down to either this guy or Ivan’s son to use and this guy was decidedly less important so I could just mold him however I needed. Who knows who the Yuri from the quote is.
> 
>  **Ivan Petrovitch-** This guy basically raised Natasha, either on his own or with Department X, depending on what version you read. 616-verse generally leans towards the latter recently. He was a pretty cool guy and was basically on whatever side Natasha was until he fell in love with her (ew) and went crazy and she had to kill him. Bummer.
> 
>  **Vasily Karpov-** THIS douchbag. He was the mastermind behind Bucky’s brainwashing in 616. He took advantage of Bucky’s brain damage and basically made him into his own personal “revenge on Captain America and the rest of the western world "attack dog".
> 
>  **Taras-** I forget exactly who this guy is. I think it was one of Black Widows targets as a kid. He also might have trained her?? Briefly??? I think she lived with him undercover for a while too, but I might be thinking of someone totally different.
> 
> \---
> 
> I was listening to [ this](http://youtu.be/ekq2iYuVCZY) on loop and thinkin about _Invisable Monsters_ while editing the fic.


End file.
